I breathe Your fragrance, taste Your goodness, crumble to pieces into Your love

I am literally the only person on campus. No joke. I'm like a white female version of Will Smith (but minus the zombies and cute puppy and genius science skills).

It's been rough, and while I feel like such a baby for admitting that I feel lonely, it's the truth. I suppose I never realized that the friendships I have were developed over thirteen-ish years and certainly not during the span of five days.

So I went to the library and checked out books and DVDs to tide me over until everyone comes scrambling back on Monday evening. They're showing Speedracer at one of the on-campus theaters, but I think my dollar is better spent somewhere else. This is hardly eloquent, but I need to write.

I started a paper today for one of my classes. My writing style is back in its groove.

"Having come from a larger city where street vendors and sidewalk musicians compose the underlying rhythm of life, it was a startling change to come to a smaller county such as Boone and discover that nature's sounds dominated daily living."

And that, my friends, is certainly a great place to start.

Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go Lord
You never let go of me

I prefer my brain uncooked, thank you.

I never thought drugs would be a serious problem.

But somehow I forgot I was in North Carolina with naturalists and romantics and those who proudly classify themselves as "free spirits."

A group of ten of us were walking along King Street (for now, forgive me while I drop street names) thrifting and giggling and rubbing sore feet and shiftily glancing at the low clouds hanging above the mountains. After passing a man in his late sixties with a giant dreadlock (notice the singular form) and a giant nail (again, notice the singular form) who was trying to sell us "stories" and "art work", both of which were pieces of soggy paper covered with pencil scratchings, one of the girls in the group stopped and sat down on a bench.

"Twenty bucks?!?" she cried. "That's all?"

Her roommate found a source who was willing to sell 'shrooms for twenty bucks for one half of one eighth of a gram. I'm assuming gram because 'gram' is the only drug-speak* word I know. For all I know it could have been a pound. But that's probably quite unlikely.

She somehow almost single-handedly managed to convince six/seven (one guy didn't directly say he wanted any, but kept asking if they were "chocolates," "Mexicans," or "libs.")

"So, Delainey. Are you in? You want to try some 'shrooms?"

It seemed like the perfect time to put to good use the "Just say 'No'" method I learned during my fourth grade year at the G.U.T.S. after-school program. Standing my ground and speaking with a confident voice I would loudly declare, "I want to make positive life choices, and drugs play no role in my future!"

I almost burst into tears due to fear and/or a fiercely protective concern for my untouched brain cells. But instead, chuckled uncomfortably and shook my head.

While the rest of the group went to withdraw money from their bank accounts and sit flowy-eyed in a room for the next four hours, I went home ("home?" "dorm?") and researched on several medical websites about the dangerous side-effects of eating mushrooms.

When I saw one of the girls this morning at a club expo, I asked her how the previous night had fared.

"People started climbing on furniture and one guy ate some flowers."

Oh, college. What hath you in store?


*"Drug speak" doesn't really help my case of being knowledgeable in the world of drugs.

Stay down Champion, stay down. Let them have your neck.

View.



Bed.



Desk.



Surviving.


I found myself standing in a line this evening waiting for overcooked hamburgers with warm coleslaw. It was terrifying. Looking around and seeing nobody, I made the decision in my head to pick up my food and carry it back to the residence hall to eat in silence.

There was Zach.
And Francesca.
And Kristina.
And Hallie.
And Thomas.
And someone nick-named Cheerios.

Networking is nice.
It makes the 900 miles between us seem only like an inch.

The ashtray says you were up all night

I really wanted to wait until I was all settled into the mountains before writing anything, but I couldn't resist. It's been quite some time since my fingers did their tap dance across the keyboard, and though they are a bit rusty, they feel right at home.

It feels refreshing to be writing again. During the school year my style developed in such a way that I never thought possible. There was passion and force and honesty behind my words. Summer came and robbed me of that. "Robbed" isn't the actual word I would use, but it's fairly close.

For now eloquence will be tossed to the wayside.
For now I will try my hardest to follow the rules of grammar.
For now the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina will be the place I hang my hat.

But that's just for now.